


Children of Thedas

by stellarshocks (cherrySprinkles)



Series: Lady of the Sky AU [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Nothing outrageous has happened yet, Sibling Love, the rating is for safety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 11:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrySprinkles/pseuds/stellarshocks
Summary: many little pieces across decades that might one day be able to become one big picture.A collection of my writing done during the DA Drunk Writing Circle Friday Nights.





	1. Homecoming (Dorian & Adaar)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "random sentences" writing prompt list; the one used is bolded and italicized.  
> Featuring [Raoul Adaar](https://suzumicchi.tumblr.com/post/164860529139/i-dont-know-how-to-draw-qunari-thats-the-bottom) who occasionally gets his horns caught up in… most about anything.

He makes for an oddly charming sight, horns caught in what, once upon a time, must’ve been a proper sheet. Dorian stifles a laugh, entering the kitchen with a gentle knock to the fridge.  
Raoul spins around, golden eyes flashing brightly and the magister feels his shoulders sag in relief; he is  _home_.

“You look like you got into a fight,“ he greets and Raoul lets out a sheepish laugh, reaching up to attempt to tug some of the fabric away.   
"Yeah.  _ **I tried to change the duvet and got stuck inside**_.“  
"You got stuck inside. I wonder why. Maybe you should’ve learned from the last time we changed duvets and you also got stuck.“   
Then, as if remembering something shocking out of nowhere, Dorian gasps.  
“Don’t tell me it was my favourite one!”

Rolling his eyes, the Qunari gives up on attempting to look presentable, returning his attention to the stove instead where something smelling strongly of spices and broth bubbles away.   
"Your favourite one’s safe, don’t you worry. My mother won’t be happy to hear about this, though. I think it was a housewarming gift.” Raoul sighs.   
“Give me five more minutes and I’m all yours.“

"And what if I don’t want to share you with dinner?“  
Wrapping his arms around his lover’s midriff Dorian pressed his forehead to Raoul’s back, warm and familiar  
"Then things will burn, we’ll have a fire to put out and you will, as soon as hunger actually catches up with you, be grumpy for the rest of the evening.“

Raoul looks over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.  
"You have such a boring way of looking at things,  _amatus_.“  
"I think what you meant to say is: thank you for cooking dinner tonight,  _amatus_ , I shall keep my sneaky fingers to myself until we’re done eating.“  
Looking up in mock outrage, Dorian draws in a breath.  
"I do  _not_  sound like that!“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me/talk Dragon Age on tumblr! You can find me at [@suzumicchi](https://suzumicchi.tumblr.com/)


	2. The Thing With Rivers (Zevran & Aeducan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "random sentences" writing prompt list; the one used is bolded and italicized.  
> This time starring Zevran and Talitha Aeducan who did not expect to get freckles.
> 
> Quick warning for mentioned nudity though there's nothing explicit about this chapter.

“I am not joking.”  
There is a hint of panic in Talitha’s voice that puts a satisfied smirk on Zevran’s face. Seemingly undeterred he makes to undo the fastenings of his leather armour. The look he gives her is the closest to innocent he can manage and she sees right through him; he knows she does. It’s not like he is putting effort into pretending, anyway, they are past that point already.

“I fail to see how this would be a bad thing, my Warden.”  
She huffs at his reply, crossing her arms before her chest. It accentuates her breasts in a way that make Zevran wish she’d just  _yield_  already.  
“Or is it true that dwarves fear water?”  
“That is not the issue at hand and you know it.”  
She sighs, nervously playing with one of the braids that frame her freckled face. He still hasn’t forgotten that moment in Redcliffe Castle when, faced with a proper mirror for the seemingly first time after leaving Orzammar, Talitha yelled in shock at discovering the marks. The memory makes him laugh to this day.

“ _ **Don’t tempt me.**_ ”  
The way she draws her brows together might have inspired fear in the mabari that follows her around but Zevran only quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed.  
“What else to have me around for, then?”  
She groans and small hands start to undo the belt keeping the trousers she wears ( _clearly meant for humans, probably stolen from the last group of raiders stupid enough to attack their rag-tag group_ ) on her hips.

The push catches him by surprise while he’s still dealing with his breast piece, and then he’s tumbling into the shallows of the lake. Groaning he lifts the gear out of the water, throwing it onto a stone so it can dry properly.  
“I had that coming, didn’t I?”  
Talitha giggles, sliding out of her tunic.  
“You sort of had, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what I write why not come talk more Dragon Age with me? Find me on tumblr [@suzumicchi](http://suzumicchi.tumblr.com)


	3. Too Late (Sera & Trevelyan friendship)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "random sentences" writing prompt list; the one used is bolded and italicized.  
> This time accompanying Sera on her prank tour: Inquisitor Nemo Trevelyan who would absolutely be her wing man if he understood the concept of wing men.

Sera’s cackles sound almost manic and for someone almost certainly feeling uncomfortable in his skin, Nemo’s face shows a remarkable lack of emotion.  
“I can assure you, Ambassador Montilyet, Sera knows good reasons for this.”  
Josephine manages to look crisp and menacing even soaked from head to toe, her ruffles drooping underneath the weight of the water.

“Hey!” The elf protests, fists drumming against the Inquisitor’s back.   
“ _ **Stop pinnin’ this on me! You started it!**_ ”  
Nemo lets out a pained breath but doesn’t move. Josephine crosses her arms before her chest, obviously not interested in watching the two criminals sort out their who-did-what.  
“Anyway, it’s your fault we got caught! You’re a huge slowpoke!”  
The mirth in Sera’s voice almost makes it worth trying to oppose the reproachful look the ambassador is giving them.  
“I’m supposed you haven’t run off yet,” he retorts, shifting to accommodate to Sera’s punches. Does she know just how much force she is putting into them?

“Would’ve made a mighty bad friend if I had, no?”  
More cackling, seemingly pushing Josephine to the end of her patience.  
“Then I am certain you will assist Inquisitor Trevelyan with sorting through the invitations that I won’t be able to take care of.”  
That quickly takes care of any laughter.  
“He started it!” Sera emphasizes again before vanishing with a giggle.

Head turning back to Josephine, Nemo inhaled nervously.  
“One day she’ll have to teach me how she does it.”  
“Not today, Inquisitor, that I can assure you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why not come talk Dragon Age with me over on tumblr (I'm [@suzumicchi](http://suzumicchi.tumblr.com))?  
> I'm always up for hearing more about other people's player characters!


	4. Patience (Iron Bull & Lavellan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "random sentences" writing prompt list; the one used is bolded and italicized.  
> Inquisitor Tamlin has a tricky past when it comes to relationships and is glad the Iron Bull has patience.
> 
> Warning for implied sexual abuse in the past.

He stops and she protests, hazel eyes bright with– outrage? Fear? The Iron Bull can’t quite place it, not when not even she’s completely sure about what she is feeling. His hands carefully pry her small ones off his shoulders, still attempting to draw him closer.  
“We had a deal, boss.”  
“One I intend to honour, don’t you worry.”  
Tamlin sighs and sits up, hands shaking as she pushes a stubborn stray curl out of her face. Does she know she’s falling apart or is she that used to pretending she’s not she forgets? He doesn’t quite know, but she sees his disapproval and shrinks into herself. That alone tells him enough.

“I’m trusting you here. This is supposed to be fun for both of us but I can’t read your mind.” Bull pulls her closer again, fingers ghosting over her arms. It takes a heartbeat for the Inquisitor to relax into his touch and even so, there’s something tight in her expression as if she’s expecting something bad to happen. “You have to tell me to stop when you don’t want something.”  
Tamlin laughs, the sound hollow, strained. There are tears she’s trying to blink back furiously, the way her expression morphs from shame into bewilderment tells him they catch her off guard.  
“And here was I, thinking you’d say “ _ **Blasphemy! Sex solves everything!**_ ” or something like that.”

Bull huffs and kisses one of her damp cheeks.  
“Oh,  _come on_ , boss. Give me more credit than that.”  
She laughs again and follows him as he shifts to sit up, climbing into his lap. Her face hidden in the crook of his neck they stay like that for what feels like a very long time, Bull’s fingers toying with Tamlin’s wild hair until there are no more tears left, until she can look him in the eye again.  
“You’re a good man, the Iron Bull. I hope you know that.”  
His laughter is rumbling, familiar, warm and she feels happy pressing her cheek to his chest, sensing how it reverberates in her.  
“Could stand to hear it more often.”  
“Oh my, please do tell me what has shaken the Iron Bull’s confidence like that.”

He ruffles her hair one last time before tilting her head up, angling it so he has an easier time laying down a trail of kisses on her neck and shoulders. Her giggles are reassuring, as is the slow, steady thrum of her pulse against his lips.  
“Your lack of trust in me, for instance,” Bull replies jokingly and she sighs softly, leaning into his touch.  
“ _Touché_.” Her fingers start travelling; from his neck to his horns, meticulously, as if she’s trying to memorise everything about him.  
“Alright then, good sir. One more time with feeling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want a chance at throwing prompts at my face even when it's not Friday? Easiest way to hit me up for that's on [tumblr](http://suzumicchi.tumbrl.com)


	5. Prelude to a Storm (Loghain & Cousland)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "random sentences" writing prompt list; the one used is bolded and italicized.  
> Altair Cousland would've liked very much to avoid the awkwardness of having a step-daughter several years her senior but alas, it was not meant to be.
> 
> Set a bit before Dragon Age: Inquisition.

“Is that how it’s going to be now?”  
Loghain’s tone is gruff but he lifts the oversized puppy into his lap anyway, allowing it to lick his fingers enthusiastically; it’s still better than having her trying to headbutt him into giving her affection.   
Altair watches bemusedly from her perch on the bench by the window where she’s mending the most recent kinks in her armour. Maybe this is what having a family might feel like, she thinks to herself, fingers pressing against the cold metal of her gauntlet. It isn’t a bad feeling.

But it’s also an idea she is not ready to entertain now, not when they’re just about to be separated again.

“What is she doing now?”  
Loghain looks up from the mabari, tired and a bit disgruntled and she laughs, setting her work aside to come to her husband’s aid.  
“The young lady has forgotten she’s grown into a proper war dog.”  
Altair grins, scratching the dog behind her ears.  
“But master, have you forgotten? _ **I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention**_!” She says in an attempt to give her pet a human voice, though Loghain doubts the dog would sound like that.   
As if to underline her owner’s words the mabari barks, her waving tail thumping against the ground.

Both woman and dog watch with glee as the corners of Loghain’s lips turn up, hinting at a smile. Eyes twinkling, Altair leans over and covers his mouth with her own in a quick, chaste peck.  
“Can you blame us for wanting to spend time with you before you have to leave?”  
He grunts dismissively and returns the gesture.  
“I won’t be staying longer than necessary, that you can believe me.”  
Altair sighs, leaning her forehead against his.  
“Promise me you’ll be safe.”  
Loghain scoffs. “I’m not going to give anyone the satisfaction of dying in Orlais, of all places.” The dog whines, disapproving of the notion of his death.

“And you.” The general turns to the animal in his lap, voice stern.  
“You are to take care of her, you hear me?”  
His fingers find Altair’s, squeeze them with care.  
The mabari barks and for a moment it  _almost_  feels alright to let her wander off into the unknown, chasing something they might not ever find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://suzumicchi.tumblr.com) for constructive criticism and more Dragon Age!


	6. No More Killing Dragons – For Now (Varric & Lavellan friendship)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "random sentences" writing prompt list; the one used is bolded and italicized.  
> Inquisitor Trixie has too many tattoos and usually likes to have passionate discussions about the merit of her actions with her traitor dread wolf boyfriend. But this time, she'd really just wish she'd thought twice before challenging a Hivernal.

When she feels guilty, Trixie starts tugging on one of her beaded braids. Varric knows she’s doing that now too, the clatter of the colourful little pieces of wood gives it away. It is a strange first thought, flickering, easy to forget by the time the pain kicks in again. For a second  _everything_  is gone, the burn in his chest takes his breath away and he feels like a horde of Druffalos decided that he was prime stomping material. There is a hint of a familiar spell – Lifeward, probably – making his skin prickle almost pleasantly. 

Shuffling, a door opening. A low „ _vhenan_ “, a voiceless hum for a reply.  
„You should get some rest.“  
„It was my bloody idea to go and find that dragon. I’m sleeping once I know Varric is not dying,“ the Inquisitor replies stubbornly and the dwarf doesn’t have to open his eyes to know the sour look Solas is giving the woman.  
„I’d dare to allege the Iron Bull was just as involved in that decision.“  
„Well,  _you_  don’t get to shuffle the blame around, you didn’t stop either one of us.“ A sigh. Varric guesses Trixie gets up; he hears bare feet on stone, senses the warmth of her small fingers on his wrist.  
„ _ **You can’t die. Please don’t die**_.“ He hears her swallow. „Not for my stupid decisions.“

When Varric opens his eyes the first thing that comes to his mind is how everything is still too bright. He curses his decision but cracks a crooked smile anyway, reaching over with a pained grunt to pat the elven woman’s hand.  
„Don’t worry, Inky.“ His voice comes out in a croak; not as smooth and reassuring as he would’ve liked it to be.   
„Takes more to killing me than an overgrown lizard.“  
The girl inhales sharply and he sees how she remembers just in the right moment not to hug him.

„You were awake?!“  
„Only for that very last portion,“ Varric concedes and huffs as he tries to sit up. Trixie pushes him back down by his shoulders, freckled face stern.  
„Nope. No sitting up. The healing spell just wore off a bit ago and judging by the blow you took–“ She grows silent.  
„You weren’t sure I was going to make it.“  
„The Hivernal almost threw you out of Etienne’s Ring, Varric.“   
She shudders at the thought.

„Listen. I–“ And there it is again, the clattering of wooden beads as she plays with her hair. Varric laughs although it hurts.  
„Inky. I promise, I’ll be fine. The spell’s working and I knew what I was getting myself into anyway.“ He reaches up, ruffles the choppy hair. „If you keep Chuckles over there waiting any longer I get the feeling he might just leave to brood.“  
Trixie throws a glance over her shoulder to the door where Solas is still leaning against the wooden frame. Varric would admit to exaggerating but that would probably ruin the soft look the elves share for a second.

„Alright,“ comes the slow response. The Inquisitor reaches out, hands hovering just above the Varric’s chest as she casts another spell. The warmth spreads pleasantly through his body and it’s almost like he can feel the magic knitting together damaged tissue.

„Don’t get any weird ideas. You know, like writing down any specifics about the dragon or the battle before you’re well enough to do so.“  
„Aw, Inky, I’m hurt! You know me!“  
Trixie rolls her eyes but she smiles when she moves to take Solas’ hand into hers.  
„That’s why I said it. Go to sleep, Varric. There’s enough time for the tale of the Iron Bull flattening the dragons of Emprise du Lion once you’re well.“  
Varric laughs and waves the couple goodbye.  
„Can’t wait for you to tell me more about it, kid.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [@suzumicchi](http://suzumicchi.tumblr.com) for Dragon Age, occasional other things and scribbles of my OCs because I'm self-indulgent like that.


	7. Memories of Snow (Lavellan & the Crew friendship)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "random sentences" writing prompt list; the one used is bolded and italicized.  
> My bae asked me to write about Trixie and snow ball fights. Lady Inquisitor was not particularly amused.

The first time Trixie saw snow – proper snow, that is, snow that covered what felt like everything – she hated it. It was exciting at first but the magic wore off as soon as it started to thaw beneath her small, warm fingers. The hunters in the Lavellan envoy laughed at her, ruffled her hair and shoved her in what was probably supposed to be a friendly manner; “ _That’s the Rivaini for you_ ”, “ _Have you grown spoiled sailing with the shems, girl?_ ”.  
No one bothered to help her after she was toppled into a heap of snow and after that, she did her darned best to reduce the amount of touching it to a bare minimum.   
“Should’ve just stayed with Greil anyway,” she muttered to herself as she followed the hunters, shaking stray flakes out of her choppy curls.   
“All sea. No snow. And no stuck-up Dalish either.”

Memories of patronising laughter and uncomfortably wet leg wraps were what carried her through most of the Conclave. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was a ruin, there was always a draft somewhere and enough patches on the roof that had been deemed stable enough not to be renovated but still looked like they’d give in beneath the weight of the snow. It was neither comforting nor did it keep her toes warm. The stone was even colder than the snow and the Dalish gear was unfit for the heights they were at. Trixie, not used to wearing more than necessary under the Northern sun, mostly skirted around the campfires, standing so close her toes might as well catch fire and for the first time she experienced her magic shift.  
Of course it would be different here, so far up in the mountains. Water didn’t stay water in the Frostback mountains; it became powdery snow, sharp icicles, biting shards of frozen liquid that terrified her. For the first time in her life, Trixie Meran ( _Lavellan, she reminded herself_ ) felt foreign facing her own magic and it was a horrifying feeling.  
She stuck to the few fire spells Keeper Deshanna had managed to make her learn during the months she’d spent with the clan.

Haven was different. There obviously were bigger problems to deal with, at first; a lot of people were still wary enough to trust a stranger with an eerie, green mark of magic on the palm of her hand; quite rightfully so, Trixie thought. But at Haven she was also supplied with clothes appropriate to the weather. The boots were constraining and uncomfortable but they warmed her feet and the nice, heavy cloak someone had procured for her kept most of the cold wind out. It also felt a lot better to burrow into it when people called her “Herald of Andraste” ( _she was no one to Andraste; she was an elf. Elves were no heralds, especially not heralds of holy women. That was how the world worked_ ).  
She felt less naked, less vulnerable. No reproachful jokes about her fraternising with  _shems_  in her past because nobody cared enough, no laughter because something Southern caught her off guard.  
Instead, Varric took her aside to tell her funny stories, Cassandra made her learn how to defend herself with a staff, Solas showed her how to work ice magic in a way that felt less abominable to her.

All in all, the Inquisition made snow feel less terrible. Today Trixie sat on the fence in front of Harrit’s smithy, curled up in her cloak between Sera and Blackwall, the latter providing commentary on a sparring match between Cullen and Cassandra. Varric stood by the anvil, observing the smith’s apprentice as he installed a new set of arms on Bianca. Solas was busy working on something mysterious and mage-y and Vivienne had excused herself a while ago to get back to work. Maybe that was for the best.   
Vivienne probably would’ve transformed Sera into an ice statue had the first rogue snowball hit her and not Blackwall.  
The Grey Warden sputtered, clearly thrown off, and Trixie fell off the fence with a loud yelp of shock. Sera giggled in malicious glee, already juggling another one with clear intentions.  
“ _ **Don’t you dare throw that snowba-**_ ” The brunette elf’s protest was rudely interrupted by snow hitting her square in the face.  
” _ **Creators damn it!**_ ” Jumping up with determination glittering in her eyes, Trixie grabbed for some ammunition of her own. Somewhere behind her Varric had abandoned his post at the anvil, instead deciding to join the fray and engage Blackwall in a duel. Somewhere in the back of her mind Trixie realized this might be the first time she actually heard the Warden laugh openly, though Sera’s cackling quickly reminded her that she had more important matters to attend to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanna call me out for the tiny cross-fandom reference I threw in? Do it [@suzumicchi](http://suzumicchi.tumblr.com)


	8. Flirting for Beginners (Brosca & Leliana)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "random sentences" writing prompt list; the one used is bolded and italicized.  
> Warden Atlas Brosca doesn't mind being 20 centimetres shorter than his gorgeous bard girlfriend.

Sometimes, Leliana found, Atlas Brosca was endearingly dense. His gruff ways did little to remedy the fact that he could unpack the most charming words if there was something he wanted from you. It probably was a habit, rather than a conscious decision, she figured after a while of traveling with the peculiar band of misfits the last few Grey Wardens had scratched together over the months.

Atlas was, especially next to Talitha whose countless white lies were nearly unnoticeable to an untrained eye, a comedically bad liar.  
So when he claimed he had not meant to flirt with the bar maid at the last tavern ( _or_  the merchant girl in the tailor’s shop in the Denerim market district  _or_  the mage apprentice at Lake Calenhad tower; any member of their group could probably add to this list) Leliana had grown past caring.

That somehow made it all the more surprising to hear him use his sweet words on her. Leliana’s lover was good with small deeds, an Andraste’s Grace here, a nice pair of shoes there, just enough not to seem he was trying to compensate and thoughtful enough to prove he paid attention to what she said and liked. Words, however, were scarce, both in general and in any affectionate context.

“We should’ve gotten you a good bow a lot sooner,” Atlas mused. He sat a bit off from where Leliana was practicing on the Redcliffe archery range, sharpening his sword and had apparently been paying closer attention than she’d assumed.  
“It looks like it’s always been meant to be yours.”   
Nodding in the direction of Majorlaine’s bow she was holding in her left the dwarf stood up, setting his own weapon and whetstone aside.  
Lifting her eyebrows in amusement Leliana lowered the bow and returned the arrow in her right to its quiver.  
“You think?”  
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t. Makes me think a bit of that Lady Knight you told me about. Ser Aveline.”

There was something flattering about the comment, the simple way Atlas’ voice wrapped around the words. It was a sober statement, maybe honest to a fault.   
Grinning impishly, Leliana took a step closer, making sure to emphasize the sway of her hips the tiniest bit more than she would’ve otherwise.  
“ _ **Keep sweet-talking and this could go a whole new direction**_.”  
For all that Atlas was quick to react on the battlefield, the words took far too long to sink in and only really did so when her hands found the back of his neck, gently cupping the back of his head and tilting it up so his gaze was locked with hers.  
Another silent moment of blinking, then realization struck and Atlas laughed, pulling her a bit closer.

“Please, milady, I meant no disrespect.”  
His hands, calloused, warm, strong, found her face and tugged her down to press her forehead against his.  
“Though I cannot claim I don’t like the idea of this direction you speak of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm usually shorter than the people around me. Are you too? [Talk short people problems to me. Or tall people problems](http://suzumicchi.tumblr.com). It's all legit, really.


	9. Silent Observers (Blackwall & Trevelyan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "random sentences" writing prompt list; the one used is bolded and italicized.  
> Nemo likes the giant nugs a lot. His sister Sonya enjoys being a little evil testing her lover's self-restraint.

Sometimes, Nemo felt bad for Blackwall. Circle life apparently had done little to tame his sister’s penchant for bending rules until they were just about to break. He knew the Grey Warden was trying very hard to maintain the appropriate amount of distance from Sonya, especially now that she had been proclaimed Inquisitor. Now, he was glad that it was a good man who’d caught his sister’s eye, one who was able to see her for the woman she was, not the mage. 

Still. As someone who liked rules and routine, Nemo could sympathise with Blackwall’s miserably muttered “Please, milady.  _ **Don’t tempt me**_.”  
Sonya’s coquettish laugh was on the verge of holding a malicious glee and had the Avvar war nug they’d collectively dubbed “Movran” not been so insistent on Nemo petting him, he might have left the stables to at least give the couple some semblance of privacy.

Sonya didn’t seem to mind, but Nemo could imagine that Blackwall’s dignity regularly took a hit or two when trying so hard (and failing spectacularly) to be proper and not give into her flirting.   
There was the rustling of fabric in the shed and Nemo heard his sister giggle while Blackwall gave a muffled groan of disdain.  
Oh. Maybe not just flirting.

“Sister dearest.” Nemo raised his voice just enough to be sure Sonya could hear him, trying hard not to laugh at Blackwall’s audible shock.  
“Know that while Movran demands my attention I can’t leave.”  
The apology he got was half-hearted, smothered by her laughter.  
“Says a lot about you, to wait until now to say something, no?”  
“Milady!”  
Blackwall’s dismayed protest made Nemo chuckle into Movran’s neck, the nug squeaking pleasedly. As bad as it sounded, he could see why Sonya liked to make the poor man suffer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You got the tiny stupid reference? Let me know on [tumblr](http://suzumicchi.tumblr.com)


	10. We're Going to Be Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "random sentences" writing prompt list; the one used is bolded and italicized.  
> More Tamlin and Bull because sometimes you need to tell each other you're okay. Even when you're likely two metres tall and have horns that could make an Abyssal High Dragon envious.

There was something about the Emerald Graves that made Tamlin seem vibrant, ethereal. The Iron Bull watched with a certain amount of admiration how beneath the canopy of leaves he felt like he could see what Cole meant when he said the Fade was shimmering around her.

( _It was still unsettling to think about the Fade but by now, the Iron Bull had seen more than enough of it to appreciate the fact that it only shimmered.  
There were worse ways to experience it._)

In a way, it was also terrifying. Because here, more than anywhere else, it felt like he could lose her. Not to war, not to death; more like she was merely a figment of his imagination, the first sign of madness, a beautiful dream he didn’t want to wake up from. It was strange and felt silly, sentimentality wasn’t his strong suit, but the fear was real, choking him subtly but persistently.

So he made himself remember she was real,  _his_. He pulled her close in the relative privacy the tents at camp gave them, let his fingers roam over her face, her neck and shoulders, over the metal of her armor down to the belt that held the dragon’s tooth necklace that completed the one he wore around his neck.  
Her eyes, almost as vibrant as the foliage, were big, curious, asked silently.   
The Iron Bull answered in touches.

Lifting one of her small, calloused hands to his chest;  _please tell me you’re real, please tell me you’re here._  
A kiss to her forehead, one to her cheek, one to the corner of her mouth; lifting her up so her fingers could slide up to his shoulders, settle on the nape of his neck.  _Tell me I will not lose you, not to this place, not to this war_.  
Tamlin did not reply, not right away. Instead, she looked to the side, to something he knew wasn’t there, waited for his proximity to ease her worries enough for her to be able to face them.

One of his big hands found the back of her head, began stroking the mop of wild, red curls. They were slightly wet from the bath she’d taken in the river and felt familiar beneath his fingers. She was his not in the way of how a man might own an object, but in how she allowed him to see her when she felt her weakest, when she doubted and when she feared.   
The Iron Bull would never claim to own Tamlin, the thought alone felt wrong. They both remained their own people, no amount of time spent in her almost too small bed could change that, but he knew the feelings she had for him were his and his to keep.

“ _Kadan_ …” His lips found her temple in a soft peck and she giggled as his warm breath tickled her ear.  
“ _ **Your hair is so soft…**_ ”  
The tension finally seemed to leave her small body and she slid closer to him, leaning her forehead against one of his horns.  
“We’re going to be okay.”  
Her words sounded like an attempt to reassure not only him but herself; almost hollow, almost too weak.  
 _Help me_ , the way her fingers dug into his back said.  
“There are still dragons left out there we have to meet.”  
“Places to see,” the Iron Bull supplied, allowed himself to dream for a moment of taking her along on jobs with the Chargers.  
“Things to learn.”  
This time, he kissed her right, relished in the way she melted into it and the soft gasp that escaped her when they parted, desperate for air.

“We’re going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You like what I do? You don't and have polite feedback on how I could try and fix it? Find me [@suzumicchi](http://suzumicchi.tumblr.com)


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